


feed me diamonds

by rayfelle



Series: that one mutant romance [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, M/M, Mutant!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 11:56:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9606608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayfelle/pseuds/rayfelle
Summary: Even with the war long done, a few problems remained.Harry doesn't deal well with an overprotective boyfriend.





	

Harry’s fingers scratch the cat behind its ears. Soft purring fills the bedroom; moonlight paints everything in silvers and grays. This night is a quiet one. A city wrapped in misleading silence and calm, this time one that should last for years.

( _one could hope, always_ )

“Can’t sleep.” Harry admits to the cat, his eyes frozen into the starry sky above them all. It’s warm; the wind that flutters through the open window brings with it the first fragrance of a new season yet to fully come. “You don’t seem to have that problem.”

The cat yawns, little paws reaching out before the feline in a lazy stretch of limbs. Eyes of stormy raincloud grey blink sleepily up at Harry, as if asking why the mutant is still awake at this hour. It’s cute.

“Yes, yes. I’ll let you go to sleep now, _your majesty_.” Harry slides his finger along the smooth patchwork of blacks and whites of the cat’s fur and turns to gaze out of the window once more.

It’s a quiet night. A good night.

…

Dumbledore still leads talks about unity, compromise of both sides. He still talks about a society where both humans and mutants are equal in their right, in their value and power. It is a talk of a far too perfect future, much like the utopia Grindelwald wished to build upon corpses and violence.

Tom seeks out to give mutants rights, to give them the freedom to live where they wish to, without the fear of death and imprisonment should anyone discover their powers and their hidden truths.

In this life there will never be equality, for fear is too deep and too old to cure.

Abraxas braids his son’s hair, gently chides the child when the boy squirms too much. “The main difference between us and old bumblebee man is that _we_ don’t fool ourselves with the thought that we _can_ succeed. We _want to_ , or course, but who can tell if we _will_.”

Lucius huffs an annoyed breath between his lips and slaps his hand against the much suffered wooden table. Smoke starts to climb from between the boy’s fingers, smell of burning wood fills the small dining room of the Malfoy apartment.

“If _your_ offspring is burning my furniture _yet again_ , I will _end you_ Abraxas Malfoy!” Lucretia yells from the bedroom, her voice clear with irritation of yet another case of destroyed things. “I never signed up for this! You promised me normal marriage! _Lies_! All I got was financial ruin and you _bleeding_ on my carpets every two weeks!” The woman kicks something then and muffles a shout of a curse.

Harry laughs, unafraid to keep his mirth hidden. His shoulders still tremble with glee as he pulls up Lucius’ hand from the wood and inspects the damage. Not too bad this time, there wasn’t a hole yet formed.

Abraxas rolls his eyes at everything. “Love of my life, why is he my child _only_ when he does this? You are just as much to blame for this, considering we _both_ have the gene that was passed on to Lucy.” The man stands up, smacks the back of Harry’s _and_ Lucius’ heads before going to appease his wife.

The little Malfoy child scowls something fierce. “When _mommy_ breaks something in half it’s _nothing_ , when I burn the table I get _this_! _I will sue_.”

“Kid, you’re _eleven_ , you can’t sue.” Harry laughs even harder and lies down on top of the abused table. The rest is not long, for Lucius goes for revenge.

…

Tom slides his hand into Harry’s and it’s cold, the fingers long enough to wrap around the shapeshifter’s palm in an ease not at all surprising. Not anymore. A pack of birds flutters up and flies to someplace far away. The sky is grey and rumbles with a distant beginning of a thunderstorm.

“You shouldn’t be outside, darling. They are looking for you.” Tom brings Harry’s knuckles to his lips, kisses them lightly. There is a beast looking from the man’s eyes.

Harry breathes in, then out. “They’ve been looking for me since the first time I broke one of yours out of jail. _Somehow_ I’m still not arrested.” But he doesn’t pull his hand away. With a chuckle the mutant starts to the lead the two of them deeper into the marketplace.

The sweater’s hood pulled over Harry’s head sways in the wind, his black hair fall in front of his eyes. Tom is a slightly annoyed presence by his side, one that hides behind a simple pair of sunglasses and a designer coat. Who would have thought that one day it will be clothes, not powers, that saved from curious glances and mistrustful whispers?

“I _worry_ , my dear.” Tom lets go of Harry’s hand and wraps his arm around the shapeshifter’s waist, brings the other closer. Just like he had done the first time they met. Rinse and repeat. “We need to be _careful_ now, when everything is so new and _fragile_.”

A paper on the grown flutters and shows the wanted posters for mutant criminals. One is a mutant with an unknown face and name, someone that can change even better than a chameleon and who had broken out prisoners, the ones responsible for multiple battles a while back. Another has been on the run for years now, after he killed a woman responsible for the torture and experiments on many mutant children.

( _Umbridge is still the demon that mutants looked for under their beds_ )

Harry sticks his tongue out at the paper in distaste.

He also wiggles deeper into the warmth of Tom. The man’s coat this time a whisper of a cold autumn that was to come in a few months. ( _Harry still has the coat that Tom gave him, at the very beginning, buried in his closet_ )

“I’m neither of those.” Harry jabs Tom in the side with his elbow, eyes lingering on the stalls of fruits and happy families standing by them. He had forgotten that old pain by now. He should have, at least. “So fuck off.”

Tom sighs a long-suffering noise and keeps quiet. One did not force Harry into decisions the young man had not made by himself.

…

“---- _ight’s news, the police captain, Mister Scrimgeour, has come forth to state his opinion on the changes made concerning mutant rights. During his speech the police captain also shed some light on the search for the mutant responsible fo---_ ”

Tom changes the channel from the evening news to a cartoon channel. His fingers then go back to sliding through Harry’s hair, stopping to scratch lightly and massage from time to time.

“You _do_ realize that I saw that whole meeting live, right?” Harry taps his phone, trying not to die in the game. His head is pillowed by Tom’s legs and the cat is sleeping on his stomach. It’s domestic, all of this. “I even got a selfie with the guy in charge of finding me.”

Tom’s fingers don’t stop their movements, but they do tense. The man’s breathing is loud, even with the television and the neighbor’s loud music. “I wish you would _not_ take risks like that.”

Harry looks up from his phone, the green of his eyes a kaleidoscope of glass shards and colors. His fingers don’t tremble and stay gentle as he slides them along Tom’s lips. “I’m not a thing to be kept, you controlling _hypocrite_.” The words are quiet but with a bite, a contrast to everything else.

“Only _you_ would be like this.” Tom closes his eyes and curls a strand of black ink around his finger. “Have you already forgotten what the police can do?”

“The police don’t even _know_ how I _look like_.” Harry’s words are of stronger annoyance and an agitated flick of his wrist. The cat yawns and jumps off his stomach and slides into the kitchen. “I’ve lived long enough on the streets to know how to _survive_. I’ve run and hid from them plenty of times, don’t think I am _weak_.”

They settle on a stalemate and don’t go any further. Not this evening.

…

Rabastan is a beacon of bright orange flame in the middle of the street. His laughs bounce off the walls and snuff out the shouts of the police officers crowded around him. The asphalt melts under their feet; the heated air bends everything in front of their eyes out of shape.

“Try and catch me, if you can! Even if you manage that, wonder how the fuck you’ll get me to stay in prison all nice and polite.” Rabastan’s eyes reflect the flames his body is engulfed in, his teeth seem almost pointed. Like fangs of an animal.

Harry sucks in breath between his teeth, palms along the ground for something to use for protection.

They had been alone in this hiding place, just the two of them. A lookout post, a regular check up of the homeless gathering spots that should not have gone wrong. But the police found and attacked, blamed the _Knights_ for hiding a fugitive.

A police officer steps forward. His face is old and marked with old burn marks. The man looks into the fire and shows no fear. “ _Move_ , Fire Spirit. We only want the shapeshifter. You _Knights_ were pardoned.”

“Well then, old friend Moody, you should be leaving the brat alone then, no? Since he’s a _Knight_ and all that.” Rabastan’s grin is feral and mad, eyes wide as he laughs in the face of a worthy opponent.

Harry clutches onto his head and wishes, he _wishes_ so much to be someone else. But there is blood once again seeping through his clothes, dyeing the once cheerful yellow walls a muddy red. ( _these were his battles, his consequences to bear_ ) More sirens ring the air with danger.

Tom will not be happy.

His face shifts, his body merges back together and changes. A face of a tired teenager, pale and rebellious in the way that he breathes and talks steps out from the building, through the broken doors. There is pride in every breath that Harry takes, a devious kind of _dare_ for those that hunt him _now_.

“You looking for me, officer?” Harry grins and there is blood on his teeth.

Rabastan looks back and sees the resolve painted across the bridge of Harry’s nose, in the challenge that looms in the eyes that have stayed an intense green. “Be careful, kid. Boss won’t be happy about this.”

“Well, it’s about time he saves me for fucking once, then.” Harry shoots back and walks into the fire, past it even. He was still a monster, a mutant with sins and murder put to his name. “Thanks, though!” Harry laughs.

…

“---what can you say for yourself, _mutant_?” Scrimgeour sits like a lion on a throne before Harry, scarred hands rest on the table and fingers tap the polished wood every couple of seconds. It’s a trial without it being an official one.

Harry leans back in his chair and rolls his head to one side. “I simply helped my fellow _Knights_ to escape an unjust imprisonment. The same one you pardoned us from.” The chains around the mutants wrists are locked too tight, but he will not complain.

He has hand worse.

Scrimgeour licks his teeth and narrows his gaze. They have no proof, other than the gossip passed on from mouth to mouth, of exactly when Harry had become an official part of _Knights of Walpurgis_. Baseless rumors, false accusations. “The pardon was in association to the Grindelwald’s mess. _Not_ the prison break.”

“So does that mean you will start looking for the one that broke out the _Order_ people as well?” Harry lets his pupils change into snake slits and slides his feet along the hardwood floor. The soles of his sneakers squeak. “Or is it just me you need?”

The lights above them flicker. The air smells of copper.

“What do you mean?” Scrimgeour leans closer, his eyes intent on every twitch of Harry’s muscles, every shift of the mutant’s skin.

Harry licks his lips and plays up the innocence, the confused naivety that is nothing but an act. “Oh, you didn’t know? Why would I bother about the _Order_?” His lashes flutter and Harry leans to meet the captain half way. “You can’t keep me here, you _know_.”

“And why would that be?” Scrimgeour bares his teeth, his hands both braced on the table and nails almost digging into the wood. It’s the gaze of a predator that digs deep into Harry’s being ( _but Scrimgeour isn’t the biggest monster here_ ).

…

The doors to Harry’s apartment click close.

Harry’s back hits the wall and Tom’s fingers will leave marks for days to come. There is still the mask of an unknown teenager painted over Harry’s body, the wound in the side a badly healed scar and annoyance simmers like a low fire just below the surface.

“Did I _not tell you_ to be careful?” Tom’s voice is a snake’s hiss. His eyes an abyss of rage. “You should have just stayed _quiet_ and let Rabastan _take care of it_.” There is pain in the way the man grips Harry’s wrists.

Power pours into Harry’s flesh and mind. He resists the commands unspoken with a snarl and a clash of his teeth. “I can take care of _myself_! I’ve taken care of myself _for fucking years_. Now get out of my _head_!”

The kick comes unexpected and Tom stumbles, his grip weakens. Harry slips through his fingers like water, body shifting back to the boy that has fought and survived for his right in the world. Their words are knives and razor sharp shards of broken metal as they clash. Every hit that lands leaves a bigger imprint than a bruise or an open wound.

Tom’s fingers tangle into Harry’s hair and leave red scratches along the young mutant’s face as he pulls the other closer and _closer still_. “I was _worried_ for you! My heart beat like a rabbit’s, my time stopped for seconds and a millennia. It was like I was back on that roof, begging for you to run in case of a defeat.”

It’s a raw worry that floods through the cracks. It is regret and independence that clashes between two unstoppable forces that are their ideals. They break together and they are bared in the middle of an aftermath of a fight.

“Let me be _me_ , Tom. Haven’t I always come back?” Harry’s throat is sore and his voice barely a cracked whisper. “Don’t make this more dramatic than it should be, it was _barely_ a month I spent there.” His fingers curl into the scent of Tom that he had forgotten.

“Don’t play with me like this.” Tom brings their lips together and holds Harry so close that they might just mold together.

They share one breath, two and break apart only to come back together again. It’s like hours, or maybe mere minutes, as they hold onto each other and rediscover the feeling of pressure and slide of their tongues. One heartbeat beats a rhythm, two apologies fall somewhere along the way.

Harry pulls away first and smiles in surrender and tired acceptance. “Drama queen.” He laughs so quietly it’s barely a sound.

“I’ve given you too much power over myself.” Tom admits and brings their foreheads together. His eyes are closed and hold gentle around Harry’s waist. “I took care of your cat.”

A meow signals the end and a new start.

…

Harry watches the news, another speech made by Scrimgeour addressing the mutants. The police captain admits to the release and lack of proof, is forced to tell about the search of whoever helped _Phoenix Members_ to escape.

Dumbledore, of course, denies everything.

“Really, you dumfuck brat, don’t do shit like that anymore.”Rabastan slaps the back of Harry’s head. The man’s grin is easy, though. “Thought boss will make me straight up go and drown in the river when I told him about your arrest. You owe me big time.”

The headquarters for _Knights of Walpurigs_ are full of members and the laughter mixes with yells of indignation and offence as little Lucius once again wins a poker match. Abaraxas looks on, proud of his son, Lucretia leaning onto his shoulder as she sleeps through everything. Her belly still just slightly round with another child on the way.

Barty wiggles his fingers under Fenrir’s nose, asking for whatever the man had bet. Bella, flushed from too much alcohol, drapes herself all over the shoulders of a grumpy Snape ( _a spy that serves the police and hides evidence when needed_ ).

They are a family, a ragtag group of people that did not belong anywhere else but here.

“Don’t worry, you’re still pretty.” Harry looks away from his newfound friends and grins up at Rabastan, his mask a reflection of the man. It’s a little creepy, a bit of a mocking gesture, but the _Knights_ have long since gotten used to it.

Tom’s hands on Harry’s shoulders make the shapeshifter’s mask vibrate and change again, this time to an image of a lanky girl with pink hair and a heart-shaped face. “Are you flirting with someone that is _not me_? Prison has changed you, love.” The man doesn’t smile with his mouth. His eyes are a reflection of the soul.

“ _Please_. I don’t want Barty keeping a grudge on me. Besides, this one isn’t my type.” Harry pats Tom’s hand and kisses the bared and soft inside of the man’s arm. “Don’t be jealous now, _dear_.”

Rabastan fakes a gag and wanders away from the two, towards another poker game just started up. “You two are _disgustingly_ married. Even more so than the _Malfoys_.”

Abraxas starts to throw pistachios at Rabastan, in mock hurt and offence. Tom rolls his eyes at them all. But there is genuine _happiness_ shining through the stoic appearance and acting.

“Your children are _horrible_. I never agreed to share custody.” Harry leans back into Tom’s chest, his true self now bared to the world. A calming kind of tired has settled into his bones. “How did you talk me into this?”

“They _are not_ my _children_.” The denial is strong.

…

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Tom places a light kiss on the top of Harry’s head and brushes invisible dust away from his cheeks. There is a lovebite hidden by the loose scarf thrown around the man’s shoulders ( _Harry carries one as well, right under his collarbone_ ).

Harry smiles up at Tom, his naked toes cold in the draft that slides in from the open doors. “Mhm. I’ll give you a call if I get delayed. You know how it is with Remus and Sirius.”

They don’t talk about the strained ceasefire still hanging over between the chasm that separates the _Knights_ and the _Order_. There are a lot of things they don’t talk about, many secrets still buried deep into cold, dead ground.

With a flick of his wrist Harry locks the doors and goes to settle back into his couch. Commercials jump around in a colorful whirl on the television screen, the lady next door curses up a storm as something gets broken.

“You two are pretty domestic.” Harry’s cat yawns from his spot on top of the couch. With a lazy stretch the feline jumps to sit next to its owner, its tale curled around its paws in an elegant sweep. “Even if he never gets the right food for me. _Shame_ , really.”

Harry snuggles deeper into his blanket and hides a smile behind the folds. “Shut up, you’re just grumpy Tom got you actual _cat_ food to eat.” In the moment it takes to blink Harry turns his smile into mischievous little thing, playful around the edges. “You’ve had worse, Regulus.”

In the place of his cat sits a man with a slim build, aristocratic face and eyes the color of rainclouds. His every feature is poised and elegant, unlike the pictures of a murdered that decorated the pages of newspapers. “I _really_ haven’t.”

( _a secret buried, but not too deep_ )

**Author's Note:**

> I told you I will write domestic fluff things and I LIED. Even though I really did try to do that. Oh well, I guess.
> 
> How do you feel about that plot twist in the end though? Betcha didn't see that one coming. -wink-
> 
> The question now is, though, should I actually continue or do you want me to stop with this? Cause I don't mind writing more, unless it's getting kinda boring at this point. (though, I cannot promise you any fluffs as, as you see with this, I don't actually keep with what little plot I have decided on.)
> 
> Annnd, as usual, the power list:  
> Harry - shapeshifting  
> T-Ridds - control of human will via touch  
> Abraxas - telepathy n shit  
> Bella - explosions  
> Barty - Illusions  
> Lucy (11) - makes acid  
> Rabastan - fire  
> Fenrir - sound manipulation/sonic scream  
> Lucretia - super strength  
> Snape - fumes  
> Reggie - turns into a cat (amazing power, i knoW)


End file.
